Absence of Faith (6 page)

"We've purchased the old lab
building across the street and we already have the necessary
permits to expand it to three times the size using the parking lot
behind it and that abandoned house next door."

"What about the hospital? What do
they think of all this? Won't they be against it?" Carson
asked.

"Not at all. They're one of the
co-signers on the loan. They can't afford to expand their own lab
beyond what it is now, but they can afford to contribute some of
the costs, and give us all the support we need to make it happen.
It also works to their benefit in showing the state that the
hospital needs more funding. Besides, they're looking to make a
profit on this just like the rest of us."

"But I don't have any money to
invest. I've got my med school loans, my house needs work, and we
want to start a family..."

"We know that, Carson," Hansen
interrupted. "That's why we want to make you a partner in exchange
for your time. We want you to manage the lab. Instead of investing
money, you would invest your time."

"How would I do that? I barely have
enough time now!" Carson said.

"I've talked to Doctor Stokes and
he said he'd allow you to work at the lab one day a week, maybe
two. I'm not saying it will be easy, but you stand to make a lot of
money once it takes off. I know the day we open, eighty percent of
the doctors here will use us because of our credibility," Hansen
said. "I need you to complete our team. I don't expect you to make
a decision right now. Think about it. Talk it over with your wife.
As a partner, you would be entitled to one twelfth of the profits
after the first year. Our plan is to promote it as a private lab
and not part of the hospital. We want to attract other doctors in
the area in addition to those 24-hour medical centers," Hansen
explained lifting a spoon full of red vegetable soup to his
lips.

"It's still unclear to me how I
will ever find the time to do it," Carson said.

"Look. You don't have to do it. If
you feel it will be too much for you, don't do it, but I believe
it's a great opportunity for someone young like yourself. I wish I
had such an opportunity when I was your age," Hansen added. "I'd
probably be retired by now."

Hansen continued to deliver
spoonfuls of soup to his mouth. Some of the soup soaked the gray
hairs of his mustache. He quickly wiped it away with a paper
napkin.

"I've got copies of our business
plan, projections, and promotional strategies. There's also a copy
of your contract, and your duties and responsibilities, and your
compensation plan." Hansen handed him a thick folder with Carson's
name handwritten on the top.

"You mean I get paid in addition to
sharing the profits?" Carson asked.

Hansen took a bite out of his tuna
fish sandwich. Some of the tuna fish dripped out and fell on to the
plate.

"Ha ha, of course, but after the
first year. Your first year will be a token salary - small. That
will be your investment. We don't expect you to work for free after
that. You can negotiate a real salary after the first year. If you
don't want to work in the lab, you will still own a part of it as a
full-fledged stockholder. If you don't join us now, we still have
to hire a manager to run the lab. It's part of the business plan,
just like we had to budget for telephones and a receptionist. With
your salary, you will be one of the highest paid partners after the
first year!"

"Okay, I'll take a look," Carson
said.

"Of course, take your time but we
hope to open by September fifth, right after Labor Day. I need to
know your decision two weeks before that," Hansen said.

"You'll know long before that, one
way or the other," Carson said. He looked down at the thick folder
for several moments. "But, why me?"

"You come from a top notch school,
you're a neurologist, and you're young. We need someone with a lot
of energy, a lot of ambition, and your credentials if we want to
make this thing a success," Hansen explained. "If it works out, we
foresee this as a win-win situation for all of us. And most
importantly, you are committed to Ocean Village and its residents.
In the past few years our town is more like a retirement community
with many of the young people moving out and no fresh blood coming
in."

"Well, thank you," Carson
smiled.

"Oh, I almost forgot. We're having
a small get-together this Saturday night at my house around seven.
You and your wife are invited. It would be a good opportunity for
you to meet the others involved. Here's my address," Hansen said
pulling a wrinkled business card and a pen from his shirt pocket.
He began writing on the back of the card.

"Call me if you can't make it,
otherwise, I'll assume you're coming."

"Well, thank you, Dr. Hansen,"
Carson said extending his hand.

"Thank you, Carson. I hope you will
join us."

Hansen stood up wiping his mouth
and still chewing the tuna fish sandwich.

"I have to run," Dr. Hansen said
wiping his mouth again. "Hope to see you Saturday."

"Thanks again," Carson
said.

Carson sat there for a few moments
and looked at the business card. He could barely read the
handwriting. He turned it over to read the other side. It said
Jersey Medical Supply in plain black type.

Carson pocketed the card and headed
back to the ER. After he checked in, he visited Mrs. Whitehead. She
was sitting up watching television with a white, small stuffed dog
under her arm.

"Hello, Mrs. Whitehead. Looks like
you're feeling a lot better today."

"Oh, yes, doctor. When do you think
I can go home? The nurses are nasty. They wouldn't let me watch Jay
Leno last night!" she protested. "Puddles and I always watch Leno
together."

"Well, they're only trying to help
you get better. They know you need your rest. Is Puddles your
friend, there?" Carson said.

"Oh, yes. This is not the real
Puddles. He died years ago...before your time. He looked just like
this," she said displaying the stuffed poodle.

"By the way, do you remember what
you ate on the day of your accident?"

"Let's see...I had my usual tea and
toast in the morning. I can't remember lunch," the old woman
explained.

Carson wrote the information on her
chart.

"Did you eat anything different
like something that you don't normally have or something that you
haven't eaten in a long time?"

"No, not that I can remember.
Getting old is terrible. You forget a lot of things. Don't let it
happen to you, sonny," she said.

"Don't worry I won't. Have a nice
day. I'll see you again tomorrow," Carson said and left.

T
he next day
Carson walked into the hospital lab feeling a bit sheepish as he
carried a paper bag with three jars of preservatives from his newly
discovered canning cellar. It was 6:30 am - a half-hour before he
was on duty in the ER.

"Hi, Jeffrey," he said. "How are
things going for you?"

"Fine. Just fine," Jeffrey answered
not looking up from a microscope.

"I found something interesting,"
Carson said pulling the jars out of the bag and placing them on the
black slate counter top.

"So, what are they?"

"Preservatives. I found them in my
basement and I was wondering if you'd be willing to check them to
make sure nothing was wrong with them," Carson explained. "I'd be
willing to give you a dozen or so if they're good."

"They don't go bad as long as the
seal stays intact," Jeffrey said uninterested.

"You mean they'll stay good for
years?"

"That's why they call them
preservatives," Jeffrey replied.

He walked away and looked into
another microscope on a table across from the lab sink. Carson
stood there and watched him. Jeffrey walked back towards Carson and
grabbed one of the jars.

"Look. You open it, listen for the
vacuum seal, and then look inside. If there's no mold, it's fine.
Then you taste a tiny bit of it to make sure. It should taste
sweet, a sour or bitter taste indicates it didn't preserve well.
That's all there is to it," Jeffrey said sarcastically.

Carson watched Jeffrey closely
wishing he had been a bit nicer the other day.
What goes around,
comes around,
he thought to bite you right in the
ass.

"They were old lady Hibbin’s. She
was into canning. She would sell them at the county fair. She had
the best around," Jeffrey explained. He picked up one of the jars
and stared at it for a moment. "Okay, when can I get my twelve
jars?"

"Tomorrow. I'll bring them in
tomorrow morning. Can you run some tests on it by then?" Carson
said holding out his hand, but Jeffrey just looked at it and turned
away.

"I guess," Jeffrey said reluctantly
from the other side of the room.

“Thanks. I was in a bad mood the
other day and I apologize for my behavior.”

Jeffrey raised his hand in a
gesture that said it is all right, but I'm on the fence about being
friendly. Carson left feeling that he would never know if he could
believe Jeffrey. He headed for the ER and forgot about it. A nurse
sitting behind the ER station stood up as he approached.

"There's a message for you from the
chief of surgery," the nurse informed him. "He wants to see you in
his office right away."

"Doctor Stokes?"

"That's him. He is chief of
surgery," the nurse replied shaking her head.

"Okay. I'm on my way," Carson
replied thinking that he was in trouble from the fracas with Graber
the day before.

When he walked in Stokes was
sitting behind a cherry wood desk with a green banker's lamp
sitting like an island in a vast dark brown sea in the center of
the desktop.

"Hello, Doctor Hyll," Stokes said
smiling.

"Hi," Carson said.

The room was silent.

"Sir, I would like to apologize for
yesterday's outburst. It's just that I'm feeling very frustrated
lately."

"Typical doldrums," Stokes cut him
off. "I experienced the same feelings when I was just starting out
back in the ice age."

Carson laughed.

"I shouldn't have sounded off
yesterday," Carson said.

"Nonsense," Stokes said. "Graber
must have sounded pretty ridiculous telling one of my colleagues
that a patient's symptoms are an act of God. I think if I were you,
I would have reacted the same way. It's just that Graber has a
pretty good reputation around here - a lot of doctors respect him,
and I suspect his head has gotten a bit too big for his shoulders.
You took a stand against something you didn’t believe in and I
liked that."

"Well, I did think his statement
was ridiculous, especially when I had identical symptoms," Carson
replied. "We're not talking about hypothetical situations here - I
experienced it first hand."

"Yes, I know and that scares me,"
Stokes said.

"You? What do you mean?"

Well, first I'd like to say that I
misjudged you. For years now, doctors like yourself would come
here, stay for a while to get experience, and leave. There are
always plenty of residencies here because we are the last choice.
So we get all the interns that couldn't get a residency anywhere
else. I feel like we're used all the time. They all leave for the
bigger hospitals. I thought you were that type of person. But after
I witnessed your determination to save Mrs. Whitehead, I was
convinced that you really cared about Ocean Village and its
residents, even if we are a bunch of holy rollers with graying hair
and polyester pants," Stokes explained. "As for Graber, he's a bit
too much with religion. He takes it too seriously sometimes. What
scares me is that I used to be just like him."

"You were? What changed that?"
Carson asked.

"Vietnam. I was one of the lucky
ones - my lottery number was 386. We lost fourteen from Ocean
Village. Fourteen young men, boys I should say, and that convinced
me that religion wasn't the most important thing in life - life is
much more important and how you live it. The clincher was that of
those fourteen, some were very religious and some were not, yet
they all died, so it didn't matter if they went to church every
Sunday. What mattered is what they did while they were alive and
what they did for this community and the people who live here. What
mattered is how they treated others and what they did for
them."

"Why are you telling me all
this?"

"Because things are happening here
that have no explanation and it's got me rattled," Stokes
said.

"You? Rattled?" Carson blurted
out.

Stokes' face was a mask of
stone.

"A man died here about fifteen to
twenty years ago. He was hysterical just like you and Mrs.
Whitehead, and he had the same symptoms," Stokes explained. "And
just like you and Mrs. Whitehead, his blood was clean, nothing that
could cause the symptoms..."